The lady many of us came to love as Mom, Grandma, and Gigi was born in Chicago as Eleanor Irene Wyas in May 1923 to her parents Peter and Mary. Eleanor was the eldest of six brothers and sisters: Ray, Charlie, Margaret, Jimmy, and Harold. She grew up in Chicago until, at age thirteen, in the midst of the Great Depression, her family pulled up roots and moved south to West Plains, Missouri.

As Eleanor told the story, the years following this move were tough. Gone were the comforts of city life. A drafty, country house with no plumbing replaced its urban counterpart. Working the land was plenty hard, too.

Not long after the move, her mother grew ill. As the eldest daughter, the job of tending to home and family fell to Eleanor. We could say this is where it started—where she got her training for taking care of others. Whether with initial apprehension, or through innate talent, or as God gifted and called her, she learned to put others first, to cook for them, and to look after a household. She became the family caretaker, indeed, the people caretaker we came to enjoy.

There in West Plains, Eleanor would meet the love of her live, a handsome fellow by the name of Herman Delbert Brixey. In the early 1940s, in the thick of World War II, Delbert joined the US Army and came out west to be stationed in San Diego as a skilled mechanic. In 1942, they were married. It wasn’t a fancy wedding. Neither did a fancy house or apartment await them. They lived in San Diego through the end of the war. There they had their first child, Loretta, who died two days after birth.

Through hard work they purchased their first home in East LA. A few years later, they would move to the home in Santa Fe Springs where Eleanor and Delbert shared the rest of their lives together. In that home they raised two children: Judy, the eldest, and Del, the youngest. They survive her, along with her brother Jimmy and her sister Margaret, in addition to a bundle of grandchildren and great grandchildren.

In that very home, during simple Thursday dinners and more elaborate family get-togethers, many of us enjoyed Eleanor’s down-to-earth, yet deep drive for taking care of others. Eleanor and her friend Betty organized and delivered hot meals for the guys during church work days. Eleanor also served as a fourth grade Sunday school and Vacation Bible School teacher.

Her servant’s spirit also shone through when, for a season, she waitressed at Googie’s, where her regulars loved her caring touch and joyous service. Ever heard of a server that not only gets big tips, but Christmas cards and presents from her patrons? Neither had I until I met Grandma Eleanor.

She persevered in her hospitality, perhaps even more so, after her husband, Delbert, went to be with the Lord over thirty years ago, in 1982.

Eleanor’s caretaker role took many forms, but we would agree it revolved most vibrantly around cooking. By the time many of us came to know her, Eleanor had fine-tuned that skill to perfection. We would also agree the most delicious ingredient in her meals, and especially all those desserts, came through the gentle, open-handed, loving spirit with which she prepared and shared them. She always wanted to make sure you had a full plate, and when it emptied a bit, she lavished you with generous and repeated seconds.

And this extended beyond family. She liked to say she never met a stranger, just people she hadn’t talked with yet. Ever heard of a mailman that gets daily sodas and weekly cookies? I hadn’t either until I meat Grandma Eleanor. If you came into contact with her, you’d eventually get something, usually sweet and plentiful. Did you get enough? Want more seconds?

Those of us who joined the family more recently enjoyed her welcoming spirit. While she loved her one grandson and four granddaughters, she was more than open to take in a few more. She welcomed David, myself, and later on Sunny, Danny and James like we belonged in her fold all along. Danny even enjoyed guest bedroom privileges at her home for a few months, and got fed well, with lots of seconds. 

Even as poor eyesight and physical frailty hampered her capabilities in her later years, Eleanor pressed on to share of herself and her talents. All those Braille classes she took—you think they were for her? Well, maybe a little, but it soon became obvious how through them she found a way to maintain and retrain her kitchen skills so she could keep sharing with us. If that weren’t enough, she also took on a string of ceramic projects, the outcomes of which we cherish and use in our homes. Even in that, she wanted to give, give, and give some more. Her giving was relentless. Good luck telling her to take it easy with Christmas presents. The principle of more seconds applied there, too.

Perhaps hardest for those of us who interacted and lived with her to the end was seeing that once health failed her more acutely, she couldn’t continue to give and serve others as liberally as she would have liked. You could tell this affected her. If she could have only found a way to give more than her love and affection, she would have. This was her heart, who she was from the inside out, and who God made and called her to be.

We should not count it as coincidence that Eleanor went to be with the Lord the day after Thanksgiving. She would have wanted it that way: have the family get together and enjoy ourselves. Then she would go on the next day, when most of us didn’t have to go to work. To not inconvenience us too much.

Perhaps the Lord also worked it out this way so we would reflect on her life with a spirit of gratefulness for the loving legacy she leaves us. As we look forward to rejoining her when the Lord calls us home, we should do well to carry on her example of loving and sacrificial giving.

Now… Who wants more seconds?